


Dish Duty

by Princeliest



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Badass Katara (Avatar), C-PTSD, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Homophobia, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Panic Attacks, Past Child Abuse, Past Jet/Zuko (Avatar), Suicidal Ideation, Zuko is an Awkward Turtleduck, self-injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-16
Updated: 2020-06-30
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:29:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 17,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24748369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Princeliest/pseuds/Princeliest
Summary: All Zuko had been trying to do was wash some dishes. Or: The one where Zuko and Katara both mean well, but still can't find their footing around each other in time to prevent explosive shouting, broken dishes, an impromptu arrest, and Team Avatar's third- nay,fourthjailbreak. Fifth? They've lost count at this point, but at least they're not willing to lose Zuko... now, if onlyherealized that.
Relationships: Katara & Zuko (Avatar), The Gaang & Zuko (Avatar)
Comments: 289
Kudos: 1960
Collections: Burnt Marshmallow, Finished111





	1. a long walk off a short branch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Takes place after Firebending Masters and before Boiling Rock.

Here’s the thing about Katara:

She’s not _wrong_.

Zuko can proclaim his innocence and changed ways until he’s blue in the face - though his breathing technique is good enough after three years of Uncle Iroh drilling him on his basics that such a thing would never occur - but fundamentally, if he was in her place, he wouldn’t trust himself either. Aang and Sokka, the two guys of the group, are quick to… not dismiss her, necessarily, but work _around_ Katara in a way that speaks to their lack of confidence in the validity of her anger.

It rubs Zuko the wrong way, even though it works to his favor. Years of getting passed over by his family and being _managed_ by Uncle Iroh, Lieutenant Jee, and the rest of his crew - Zuko is very familiar with the look people get when they hear enough emotion in his tone to stop listening to words in favor of attributing them to meaningless, explosive, irrational teenage rage.

Zuko is also very familiar with meaningless, explosive, irrational teenage rage. Katara’s hatred for him is not that, for all that it is backed by a simmering, wounded pain.

 _How can you trust me with this_ , Zuko wants to shout at the Avatar, very nearly as furious as Katara. He knows the answer: They have no choice _but_ to trust him. Unfortunately, knowing isn’t the same thing as feeling, and he _feels_ like Katara is the only sane person in the Avatar’s group.

It doesn’t hold, of course.

He tries - they _all_ try. But even with the fate of the world on someone’s shoulders (perhaps _especially_ with the fate of the world on someone’s shoulders), there’s only so much you can ask a person to bear before things come crashing down. Or, more aptly, there’s only so long you can ask the world to not blow up in Zuko’s face before the pressure builds too high and everything goes up like Avatar Roku’s volcano.

With Katara, it goes like this:

She yells at him. He yells back, eventually - and then, because he’s never one to pass up gunning for first place at the worst things possible, he also breaks some dishes. They both go to cool off. Zuko buys replacement dishes. Zuko gets arrested.

Yeah, people have always told Zuko that he’s a pretty terrible storyteller.

It’s not even Katara or Zuko’s fault, in the beginning - it’s more Sokka and Aang’s, he thinks. Zuko can see the tension winding tighter in her shoulders every time she walks by one of them lounging or fiddling with a carving while she cooks breakfast and cooks dishes, until they’re nearly as taut as _he_ feels.

Every one of the group has their role, but some carry more weight than others. Sokka, the non-bender of the group, puts a truly herculean amount of effort into training his sword skills, and handles the logistics of… well, pretty much everything. Aang is, obviously, the Avatar. Katara, aside from being the Avatar’s waterbending master, seems the most skilled at maintenance chores such as feeding and clothing the group. Toph… doesn’t seem to be interested in much aside from teaching Aang earthbending. At first Zuko thinks it’s because she’s blind, but she quickly stamps _that_ idea out of his head. He eventually learns she’s a Beifong and thus probably grew up learning as few skills with practical applications to roughing it as Zuko did.

He’s not quite as comfortable in his position as Toph, though, which leads him to try to help out where he can. Zuko’s pretty useless at most things that don’t involve sword-fighting and, to his eternal consternation, serving tea (though Uncle would be quick to stop him from _brewing_ it), but he picked up some basics while traveling with Uncle. There’s only so many times you can watch your elderly uncle put up a tent before shame motivates you to figure it out yourself. Plus, it’s hard to break dishes while washing them when they’re made out of tin.

Trouble is, most of the others don’t seem so interested in helping.

Toph is independent to the last and goes off on her own to sleep in exchange for freedom from camp-setting-up duties. Aang has to be reminded of every basic detail and is a perpetually distractible flight risk. Sokka will help set up a tent, but holds a weirdly hardline stance about rain tarps and dismisses himself as entirely incapable of anything to do with sewing or cooking. It is, very clearly, wearing on Katara. Maybe it has been for a long time, but the additional stress of Zuko’s presence is like blowing air over hot coals.

Zuko is pretty terrible at cooking, too, but he can fetch water and wash dishes. He volunteers for this before Katara can ask anybody else, because if he’s learned anything while captaining a ship of willful disobedients, it’s that micromanaging everybody’s duties is practically a full time job on its own.

(It occurs to Zuko, in the kind of retrospect that can only be brought on by his own stint in food service, that less micromanaging would probably have done more to endear Lieutenant Jee and his sailors to Zuko. He tries not to think about this too much, mostly because he is not entirely sure whether Lieutenant Jee and his sailors are even still alive after what happened at the North Pole.)

Somehow, instead of alleviating Katara’s stress, it seems to annoy her _more_.

(Girls are crazy.)

He can’t really say that, though, because Zuko has always been pretty terrible with people, and he’s probably just messed up some Southern Water Tribe hospitality custom or, even better, some ‘most people with an inkling of how to socialize normally would just _understand_ ’ custom. In the end, he decides, Zuko is not a mind reader. If Katara has any new issue with him, then she can tell him herself.

Eventually, she does.

Very loudly.

(Girls are _crazy_ , and he really shouldn’t have muttered that comment about respect when she shoved the pot of used dishes into his arms without a word, but Zuko’s never been able to keep his mouth shut when it matters and even working as a tea boy he’s never been able to keep his _temper_ down when people are so blatantly disrespectful. It’s lost him plenty of tips, and he wouldn’t even care if he didn’t have to look at Uncle’s face after and realize that Uncle isn’t even angry with Zuko, he’s just _disappointed_ , and that’s _worse_ , Zuko can _deal_ with people being mad at him, but he hates being a failure -)

Yeah, he has a lot to unpack in that respect. _About_ respect. He’s still the guy that nearly challenged Lieutenant Jee to an Agni Kai over some disrespectful comments, but it’s not Zuko’s fault that nobody ever listens to him unless he _makes them_.

Zuko is the one not listening now. He’s kneeling in the grass by the river, one sleeve rolled up from when he was about to start dunking dishes in the water, staring up at Katara as she shouts - without a single idea of what the hell she might actually be saying.

Fight or flight, fight or flight, fight or flight - the two options bounce around his skull like rubber balls, knocking over Zuko’s haphazardly cultivated sense and rationality like pins. Despite his extensive experience with it, Zuko can’t fight here, can’t risk the chance he’s been given to make up for the weight of his countless wrongdoings just to escape the shaking tension building in his shoulders. 

And flight is not - has never been - acceptable. The mere contemplation leaves Zuko slightly queasy.

“Why in the _world_ would I respect _you?!_ When was the last time you offered _me_ respect? When you grabbed my grandmother? When you tied me to a tree? When you stole my mother’s necklace? When you _lied to my face_ and _betrayed_ me? There’s not a drop of respect or honor in you!”

Or maybe it’s the sharp tone of Katara’s voice, sluicing through his scattered thoughts like a blade through water until it’s positioned just right to hang over his neck.

That’s how it feels, anyways. In reality, she’s just rightfully upset and being loud about it, a teenager two years his junior venting her rightful rage at the deserving target. It’s not Katara’s fault the way Zuko’s breath hitches, not her intent the way his vision blurs and then goes dark around the edges until Zuko is watching the world through a spirit tunnel. His fingers dig through the dirt and grass underneath him, because if he doesn’t hold himself to the ground then he’s going to shoot up into Katara’s face and earn himself a _real_ repeat of the last time Zuko cowered on the ground before the angry beneficiary of his loyalty.

It’s stupid. It’s a stupid, years-old weakness, that Zuko categorically cannot hold himself still when it’s his turn to pay his dues, to receive the consequences his actions reap. It was the same with Lieutenant Jee - but the spike of anger he felt at the technical insubordination of a decorated officer at least twice his age isn’t here to prop Zuko up as he trembles like a field lizardmouse in the face of someone’s very angry little sister.

He can’t even hear what she’s saying anymore. It’s like trying to listen through water, everything muddled and faint - and Zuko can’t take it anymore, doesn’t have it in him, because he’s a coward every time it counts. He staggers to his feet, grass-sticky palm pressing against a tree to balance himself as he rises.

He’s taller than Katara. That makes it easier to breathe. His face feels numb except for a weird tingling across his skin - even under his scar - which means he has no idea what expression he’s making. He tries for a smile, and can’t even begin to tell what it could look like from the outside.

All the air in the world doesn’t help when his heart pounds in his ears, and Zuko pounds a fist against his chest twice in an attempt to knock the pressure behind his ribcage back under control.

“ - Not even listening. Great!”

Katara throws her hands up in the air, clearly frustrated, and Zuko twitches away, blinking hard. He drops the smile, since it’s clearly not helping.

“Sorry,” he rasps. His voice sounds like he’s the one that’s been screaming for five minutes, quiet and like he’s dragging it over gravel. Even now, Katara at least offers him the respect he can’t give her. Arms crossed and eyes narrowed, she _listens_.

Pity that Zuko doesn’t have much to say for himself.

“I think,” he tells her, “That I might pass out.”

She jolts, arms dropping as his words startle her out of her scowl, and when Zuko stumbles away from the tree, she lunges forward.

The sharp, scared thing in the pit of Zuko’s stomach shoves him to skitter away from her, but he’s half-blind and moving through molasses, so Katara catches him under his arm easily. Good thing, too, because that way is the river, and he’s close enough to the edge of the raised bank for it to be a concern.

“I’m fine,” Zuko gasps, because this is worse, “I take it back, I’m fine.”

“You’re _sick_ ,” Katara protests, leaning him back against the tree he had been using as a refuge. “I can’t believe I just yelled at a sick person… Not that you didn’t _deserve_ it, but - “

Zuko shakes his head. “M’not,” he says, “I’m not. I’m just - “

He just can’t really breathe, or think, or - or move. There’s a chill in him, and he shudders in Katara’s arms. He feels absolutely terrible, but he’s functional through the haze of whatever’s come over him, and he knows from past experience that he can still finish whatever job needs to be done. The dishes still aren’t washed, and like this Zuko wouldn’t even need to firebend to tolerate the prickling iciness of snowmelt river water.

Katara presses her lips to his forehead, an overly-familiar gesture that would send Zuko flushing in embarrassment and half-mast fear if he wasn’t blanched so pale that his lips are probably near-on turning blue.

“You don’t seem hot,” Katara says, pulling away, and the sharpness to her gaze is clinical and professional as she eyes Zuko’s shaking form. “But you’re shivering, and your breathing doesn’t sound right.”

“That’s okay. It’ll pass in a minute,” he says, eyelids fluttering when his lips move but the words don’t reach his ears until moments after. Katara’s the same, a deceptively clear moving picture that looks farther away than he knows her to be and only produces sound a half-second after the words roll off her tongue.

“This has happened before?” she asks, volume slowly climbing in her incredulity, “How long have you been ill? You’re teaching Aang in this state?”

Zuko shakes his head, blinking rapidly to try and clear his vision. He shoves himself onto his knees, ready to stand again, and Katara shoves him right back to the ground with gentle but immutable force.

“Stay _down_ ,” she snaps, brows furrowing. Her hand burns hot against Zuko’s shoulder, and her shadow falls over him, looming across the only break in the tall, dark trees in his vision. He can’t see the sky like this, can’t find where the sun’s gone until she shifts on her haunches and it flashes, bright and dazzling and hot across his face.

Zuko flinches, squeezing his eyes shut.

“You’re going to hurt - yourself…”

Katara trails off, confused, and Zuko can’t even bring himself to care as he presses his palm to his mouth and breathes, ragged and gasping. He sounds like he’s drowning on dry land, and he feels like he might throw up.

“Just - just stay here. I’m going to get something to help. Don’t get up,” Katara stammers, and then she’s gone.

Zuko does not stay down.

Well, that’s not entirely true. He stays down for a minute, until he can actually see again. Everything still feels tunnel-y and distant, but he’s worked through worse before, and he can’t abide just _sitting_ here. He would actually rather jump in the river, so he shifts over to his knees, then unbends one knee after the other and stands.

It’s fine. He’s not staggering anymore. His heart is still pounding, beating kind of off-kilter, but he can force his breathing to be more regular, and he’s pretty sure that if anybody looked at him now, he could pass for convincingly fine. He’s fought like this before, bluffed at markets like this before. He’s not an invalid. It will pass.

Zuko picks up the rest of the morning’s dishes, gives them a more cursory rinse than is likely acceptable, and then piles them carefully into the cookpot for easier transport before trudging back to the camp.

Katara is nowhere to be found. The sound of boulders churning earth in the distance shakes through the air, an uncanny but familiar vibration that indicates Aang and Toph training. Sokka sits with his back against a half-slumbering Appa and his feet stretched towards Zuko’s campfire, whittling at whatever’s been distracting him from helping Katara all morning.

(It’s not really Zuko’s campfire - it’s the whole camp’s - but it came from his flame and so he can feel its heartbeat even hundreds of feet away when he’s washing dishes downriver. When he’s not careful, it flickers in time with his own.)

“Hey,” Zuko mumbles, after dragging a deep breath into his lungs. Talking when he’s like this always feels - not exhausting, exactly, but like he’s _already_ exhausted.

“Hey,” Sokka shoots back, frowning in concentration at his lump of wood. Zuko can’t see what it is from here - Sokka is to his left, and his vision in that eye is extremely subpar - but he’s not really sure that it matters. Sokka’s trying to carve the thing with his sword. A Piandao original, used as a substandard replacement for a whittling knife. Sometimes, Zuko has no idea what to even think of these people.

“Have you seen Katara?” Zuko asks, stepping over Sokka’s legs so he can put the dishes down where they’ll be easy to pack away on Appa later that day.

“Nah,” Sokka says, “She went to find some cloud moss. We usually keep some in our first aid supplies, but we had to use it on Momo when he ate maka’ole berries last week.”

Zuko blinks. He doesn’t know anything about maka’ole berries except for what Uncle told him when he poisoned himself, but he _is_ familiar with cloud moss. It’s known for its detoxification properties when made into tea, and people would sometimes order it at Pao’s Family Tea House when they were feeling ill and couldn’t afford to go to a real doctor. Also, sometimes girls would come in saying they were on “detox diets” and couldn’t eat or drink anything but cloud moss tea for a week, but that sounded stupid and fake. At any rate, the stuff is pretty commonly found at high altitudes. It looks like clumps of white brambles, and grows on high-up tree branches.

Zuko suddenly has an idea about how to earn back Katara’s good graces. Or at least her tolerant graces.

“Toph said we should have just let him go blind,” Sokka goes on, half-mumbling as he sticks his tongue out and angles his sword in a weird way that has Zuko stepping back to avoid getting stabbed, “And she would teach him how to see by vibrations, but then Aang said that it wouldn’t work since Momo can’t earthbend. Toph said he could just scream really loud and feel the vibrations from _that_ , and _I_ said that that sounded like the dumbest idea ever because who ever heard of lemur-bats hearing by screaming - “

“That’s really interesting,” Zuko huffs past the dao blade he’s gripping between his teeth.

“Wait,” Sokka says, finally looking up, “What are you doing?”

“We’re pretty high up on this mountain,” Zuko says, shoving himself up another tree branch and then stabbing one of his dao to make a handhold where the tree had none before, “I can probably find cloud moss up growing naturally without Katara having to risk going down to the market or spend any money.”

“Huh,” says Sokka, “Cool. I didn’t think you were the kinda guy who’d know about foraging.”

“I don’t,” Zuko admits, testing the dao with his foot. It shifts a half-inch and then holds sturdy, and he uses it as a springing-off point to lunge for the tallest branch that will reasonably support his weight.

“I just,” he pants, “Used to work as a waiter - “ He swings his legs over his head in a straddle, hooking onto the branch, before dropping his hands, swinging back to gain momentum, and flipping himself into a vertical sitting position on the branch. “ - at a tea shop,” Zuko finishes.

He looks down at Sokka. Sokka peers back up at Zuko, looking thoroughly impressed and also thoroughly unhappy about being impressed.

“I know it sounds strange, but you can ask Katara about it,” Zuko tells him, rubbing at the back of his neck. “When Azula caught us both, she said that she found out my uncle and I were in Ba Sing Se because she saw me at the Jasmine Dragon. That was Uncle’s shop, but we were working at Pao’s Tea House in the Lower Ring before that.”

“That’s not why - nevermind,” Sokka mutters, soft enough that Zuko barely makes it out at this distance.

Zuko shrugs, looking back up the tree. He’s never been fond of people staring at him, and as much as it grated on him that he and Uncle had to lower themselves to serving tea or begging during their time as refugees, there was something reassuring about the anonymity of working as a serving boy. In the Lower Ring, people didn’t even pay that much attention to his scar, familiar enough with the sight of a war refugee to know not to comment on it. In the Fire Nation, people react to burn scars very differently. Similarly, Sokka’s gaze trained on him now makes the space between Zuko’s shoulder blades itch.

He focuses on the tree branches above him, instead. They’re thin but dense, and he has to press them apart with his hands as he reaches for the characteristic white clumps of moss that grow near their bases. Pine needles prickle at Zuko’s face as he tips up onto his toes for a more precarious but better reach - he’s just about got the biggest bunch -

“ _ZUKO!_ ”

Zuko jolts, flinching hard at the sound of his name the way he’s heard it most of his life - sharp, angry, disapproving - 

And with a scattering of bark and pine needles, he slips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My first contribution to ATLA! This was born from a 'how each member of the Gaang swears' headcanon snippet that didn't even make it into this chapter, and my desire for some simultaneous acknowledgment of Zuko's trauma and narrative justice with regards to Katara's extremely justified negative feelings towards Zuko's betrayal at the end of book two. Thank you as usual to Cloudy and Shooshopath for betaing for me. Please let me know what you thought in a comment, and feel free to find me on Tumblr at [prince-liest](https://prince-liest.tumblr.com/)!


	2. a sailor's mouth still needs dishes to eat off

This is not Zuko’s first time falling from a tree. When he was much younger, back when his father’s hands were softer and his mother was still around, he and Azula climbed the tree by the palace’s turtleduck pond. Azula was younger and thus smaller and lighter, and was showing off how much higher she could get than Zuko. Zuko, not yet accustomed to his little sister’s perpetual superiority to him at pretty much everything, decided to climb up to her anyway. He doesn’t remember if the too-thin branches snapped underneath his weight or if Azula pushed him - or if it was both - but it didn’t really matter. In the end, he was sprawled under the tree, one hand desperately trying to scrub involuntary tears out of his eyes because _princes don’t cry_ and the other bent underneath him in a really scary-looking way.

This is also not Zuko’s first time falling from a great height. When Zhao’s hired pirates loaded his old ship with blasting jelly, Zuko still inside, he only realized something was wrong late enough that there was no time to get offboard the safe way. He took a dive from the control tower - dozens of feet tall, and still barely enough time for him to clear the edge of the ship’s deck and land in frigid, choppy waters instead of on unforgiving metal. At that height, water was still better than solid ground for a landing - but only barely. His trip underneath the North Pole had been made with broken ribs and scald wounds.

Zuko has not, however, ever fallen from a tree _and_ a great height. He doesn’t see this particular landing going as well as either of his past experiences. He’s too high up for a drop onto earth to end in anything other than ‘splat.’

Luckily, he’s also got the reflexes of someone who falls a lot, so a split-second after his heel chips the surface bark off his former perch, he whips an arm out and grabs the dao he’d worked into the tree for a foothold earlier. It rips out of the bark with a noise that would have Zuko feeling bad for the _tree_ if all of his available brain cells weren’t occupied by his impending death, and he kicks a burst of flame to throw himself back at the tree and plunge his blade back in.

Somebody - multiple somebodies - scream almost as loudly as Zuko’s sword tearing through bark and branches, but Zuko doesn’t have the breath for it. The fall steals everything from his lungs. He grips the sword with two desperate, clawed hands as it vibrates wildly in his grip, scouring a great gouge down the tree trunk until he finally slows to a stop.

Zuko peels his eyes open from where he’d screwed them shut, uncurling from the tense ball he’d made like the world’s most awkward and terrified tree ornament.

There’s grass three feet below him, and two sets of wide blue eyes staring at him. He’s pretty sure neither he nor the two Water Tribe siblings are breathing, until Katara takes a deep breath.

“Why would you _do_ that?!” Katara demands.

Zuko lets his feet touch down on the soft grass below him, and then shoves one against the tree trunk for leverage as he pries his sword free.

“Do _what_ ,” he asks, frowning, “Stop myself from falling to my death?! It’s just a tree, Katara - ”

“ _Why would you climb the tree?_ ”

“I was just trying to get your dumb moss!” Zuko defends, gesturing to… ah, shit. All that’s left in his hand after the fall is a sad clump of crushed pine needles and other plant matter, half of which isn’t even cloud moss. “Sokka said you went looking for it, but it’s parasitic and only grows high up.”

“I was trying to get it for _you!_ ” Katara says, hands on her hips, “Because you’re sick! Which means you shouldn’t be climbing up in trees!”

“I’m not sick!” Zuko says - or, well, nearly shouts. He’s trying not to shout, but his nerves are kind of shot after the fall and his volume is definitely up there.

“Yes!” Katara shouts right back, “You are! You nearly passed out! You couldn’t even hear me! You shouldn’t even be standing!”

“I’m not _sick_ ,” he yells, giving up on extracting his dao from the tree and winding his hands into his hair in frustration, which - shit, the stupid _leaves_ \- “I already told you, I’m not - “

“Then what happened!”

“I just had a stupid fit because you wouldn’t stop _yelling_ at me, okay?!”

There’s a long moment of silence as Katara’s eyes slowly widen and her hands drop.

“So, what,” she says, dangerously quiet, “Now it’s _my_ fault?”

“I - no,” Zuko backpedals, waving his hands in front of him, “It’s not your fault, and you were right to be mad - “

“Ugh!” Katara drags her hands down her braid, frustrated, “Stop _doing_ that, I can’t even - how can you be like this!”

Zuko’s eyes drop, and he stares at the ground, shrugging as he crosses his arms. He doesn’t even know what _like this_ means at this point, and it seems safest to say nothing - especially since the light simmer of his temper is getting closer and closer to a roiling boil.

“You chased us across the whole world, yelling and throwing fire and kidnapping and - and doing _everything_ you could to hurt us - “

Now _that’s_ just not true - “I _didn’t_ \- “

“ - And _now_ ,” she shouts over him, “You’re acting like some kind of fragile little kid, and it’s not _fair!_ You don’t get to be like this!”

She steps forward, jabbing at him with a finger.

“You’re a _monster_ , Zuko!”

Zuko flinches, meeting her startled gaze as she realizes what she just said. Katara’s eyes are as wide as his must be, and for a long beat, neither of them breathe.

Then Katara’s eyes fill with tears and she whirls around, rushing off.

Zuko stares at the ground, fists tight, and screws his eyes shut again as he tries not to hit something.

He fails. Sometimes, hitting something really is the only way to stop himself from exploding even worse.

He twists to the side with an angry, wordless shout, and punches a ball of fire into the air. Heat sears across his face, nearly singing the tips of his hair and much hotter than Zuko actually intended. Also unintended: The gout of flame lands right in the little clear area where he’d placed the dishes earlier, sending the thin tin bowls and cups scattering across the blackened grass and scorching a red-hot hole straight through the side of their biggest cookpot.

Zuko stares for a moment, and then drags his hands down his face. “ _Fuck!_ ”

And then, because sometimes hitting something only makes things _worse_ , and swearing wildly is the next best thing that doesn’t actually hurt anyone or anything, he keeps going. He paces away and curses Katara, curses the tree, the moss, the pot, the -

“Could you maybe, like - less? A little bit? With the swearing?”

Zuko’s chin jerks up in the middle of a particularly impassioned description of up which parts of what animals, exactly, whatever spirits in charge of his fate seemed to have lost their sense of basic honor as he realizes he still has company. More company, even. At some point, Aang and Toph had made their way over to the biggest source of noise in the vicinity of the temporary campsite.

It’s kind of weird. On his old ship, most people other than his uncle tended to scuttle away when Zuko was in a mood. He used to believe that it was because he was intimidating, but lately Zuko has been increasingly sure that the behavior was mostly a mutual preservation tactic meant to prevent Lieutenant Jee from strangling him. It had stopped very recently, after all - shortly after the near Agni Kai when the lieutenant had nearly given into what Zuko is sure was a desire to put Zuko in his place that was years in the making.

Well, the joke is on Lieutenant Jee. Zuko just has that effect on people, and putting him in his place is exactly what got Zuko on Lieutenant Jee’s ship in the first place - and he’d been put there by a heavier hand than Jee’s by far.

Anyways, the point is, Zuko does not expect to pause in his increasingly-loud tirade to face three very awkward looks from the self-named Team Avatar. Well - Sokka, who had been the one to speak up, is awkward. Katara is thankfully still absent, Aang looks torn between fascination and - hurt feelings? His lip is sticking out just a bit, and his eyes have gone wide where he’s sitting cross-legged on the ground. It makes Zuko feel… bad, somehow.

Toph, on the other hand, looks like her birthday came early and Zuko dropped a present onto her lap.

People don’t look at Zuko like that very often, not even when he literally drops presents into their laps. His mother used to, but Azula and his father never really thought much of his gifts, and his uncle’s eyes are always more _sad_ around that time of year. Zuko knows he’s remembering Lu Ten, and tries to avoid his uncle until the look passes from his eyes. He’s not sure what he would do with himself if Uncle Iroh looked at Zuko and found him wanting in comparison to his _real_ son.

Immediately suspicious, he squints at Toph - with his good eye, since the bad one is always squinting already.

“I’m not even swearing!” Zuko protests.

Whatever Sokka and the others had been expecting him to say, it wasn’t that.

“What do you mean, you’re not swearing?” Sokka asks, incredulous. “You’re swearing like a sailor - except our whole tribe was sailors before they left, and even they didn’t swear like that!”

“What about any of what I said is swearing?” Zuko demands, turning more fully towards Sokka and gesturing to the side with an arm. “Uncle would kill me if I swore that much!”

Well, not really. At least not after the first time he snapped at Zuko, when he was thirteen and still had a bandage over his bad eye, too shaky around fire to bend and prone to forgetting how to breathe when something moved too close to his face. Zuko is pretty sure neither of them expected the way Zuko had frozen up. It’s a humiliating memory, even if Uncle never berated him for it.

But Uncle’s disappointment is worse. It prods at something restless and anxious behind Zuko’s ribs, and then he has to quiet it down by saying yes next time Uncle wants to drink tea and play pai sho, and Zuko _really_ doesn’t like playing pai sho against a man who’s beat him thirty-seven times in a row.

“Ass is a swear word!”

“Yeah, if you’re a _little kid!_ ”

“Some of us _are_ little kids, here!” Sokka says, gesturing emphatically to Aang and Toph.

“Hey, dogfucker,” Toph says, clearly trying out the feel of it, “Speak for yourself.”

Sokka slaps both of his hands against his face as Zuko slowly flushes, and drags them down until they pull his under-eyes into a grotesque visage of _extremely done with all of this_ that’s even more dramatic than Zuko’s earlier attempt at the same gesture.

“That is _definitely_ a swear word, and _some of us_ are _little kids, here!_ ” Sokka repeats, gesturing emphatically to Aang and Momo, who is sitting on Aang’s head. “You should be glad we’re not down at the temple with the Duke!”

“Momo is seventy-two in lemur years,” Aang notes brightly, “And the Duke swears a _lot_ when you’re not around, Sokka.”

“Augh! Look,” Sokka says, “The point is, your mouth is _filthy_. Were you raised by sailors?!”

Zuko nods in confirmation, crossing his arms again. “And also my uncle. But Lieutenant Jee didn’t really do as much raising as wanting to put me in the ground. Which is pretty normal in the grander scheme of things than the ship, actually, so I guess it makes Uncle the exception!”

He laughs lightly, kind of like how Azula does when she’s cueing Ty Lee to laugh (Mai doesn’t really laugh at anything). Unlike Ty Lee with Azula, nobody follows suit, and Zuko trails off awkwardly.

“Um,” Zuko explains, rubbing at the loose fabric of a sleeve, “It’s funny, because Lieutenant Jee was a sailor, so technically he would have wanted to put me in… the water…”

Sokka stares at him, clearly overcome with abject despair.

“I can’t even be mad at you,” Sokka complains, “It’s like kicking Earth King Kuei’s stupid bear. So many teeth, and still somehow so incomplete and sad-looking…”

“Earth King Kuei had a platypus bear?” Zuko asks, choosing to ignore the rest of what Sokka said because… honestly, he has no idea what to do with it. Sokka should definitely be mad at Zuko. Even Uncle Iroh has to drink calming tea all the time to stay relaxed around Zuko, and Uncle doesn’t get mad at _anything_. Or - he didn’t, until Zuko betrayed him.

“He’s pretty brave to keep a pet like that,” Zuko says instead of dwelling on that thought any longer.

Aang shakes his head. “No,” he explains, “Just a bear.”

“Huh,” says Zuko, “That’s kinda messed up.”

“Exactly!” Sokka exclaims, throwing his hands up - first into the air, then at Zuko, staring meaningfully at his companions.

“I can’t tell what expression you’re making, shithead,” Toph says, “Maybe you should come closer so that I can fucking _see_ it better.”

Sokka turns to Zuko. “You,” he says blandly, stepping forward and poking Zuko in the chest, “Are a _terrible_ influence.”

“I didn’t even use that one!” Zuko complains, unfolding his arms to rub at the smarting point where Sokka’s finger had jabbed. He’s got sharp nails for a guy. “She must have learned it somewhere else!”

“Me?” Toph says, eyes wide and innocent, “Wherever could I have learned something like that? I am but a humble merchant’s daughter!”

Zuko narrows his eye further again. Something about that sounds terribly wrong, but he doesn’t know enough to dispute it. He’s _heard_ of the Beifongs - anybody who’s anybody has, particularly anybody with a rickety, under-supplied ship that needed to get smart about trading for seafaring supplies while traveling through Earth Kingdom waters - and they are not a humble family. But... also not the kind of borderline-nobility that would produce a foul-mouthed daughter.

Aang’s eyes widen, though, and a gust of air floats him to his feet as he leans into Toph’s space.

“Did you learn that at the Earth Rumble?!” he asks, “Because Zuko said some words I didn’t even know _existed_ \- ” Here, Sokka meanmugs Zuko again. “ - But the Rumble had some real, uh - real _hooligan_ types!”

Zuko can’t help himself - he snorts, half-covering his face with a palm. He gets away with it, mostly because Toph snorts, too, much louder, and then dissolves into heel-kicking laughter.

“Yeah, Twinkletoes,” she says when she’s done, swiping a tear away with a finger, “Yeah I learned it from the Earth Rumble h- _hooligans!_ ”

Her voice pitches up on the last word, very nearly cracking, and then she’s lost to giggling again.

“Great,” says Sokka, “Now there’s _two_ of you to corrupt the savior of the world.”

Zuko rolls his eyes, but turns his bad side towards Sokka first so that Sokka can’t see him doing it. This immediately muddles his ability to hear what Sokka is saying, but it’s worth it for the moment of privacy. Zuko can’t hide what he’s feeling from showing on his face to save his own life (and there have, in fact, been moments where it would have helped save his life), but he’s only actually _got_ half a face for anything to show on.

“Whatever,” Zuko mumbles, “I… should go get a new pot. And bowls.”

“And spoon,” Toph adds cheerfully, “What even happened to all our stuff? Is that how the Fire Nation washes dishes? Even my parents weren’t rich enough to throw stuff away after each use, but I guess you _were_ royalty.”

“Uh.”

Zuko looks at Sokka. Sokka crosses his arms and looks back at Zuko. Okay, the message is clear: no rescue incoming for Fire Nation jerks who throw fireballs at communal dishware.

“I kind of… firebended at it?” Zuko asks.

“Huh,” Toph says, and then shrugs. Her decision to just not care is practically visible. “Okay. I’m gonna practice my metal-bending on it. Maybe I can put it back together.”

“What?” Aang says, “ _Why?_ Why would you break our stuff? I thought we were getting along better now!”

“Yeah, Zuko,” Sokka says, playing along in a clearly facetious and over-the-top tone, “Why would you break our stuff.”

“I’m sorry!” Zuko cries out, throwing his hands up, “I didn’t mean to, okay? I’ll get new stuff! There’s an outpost not too far away and I have Fire Nation money left over from home, I’ll just use that!”

Sokka deflates even as Aang looks more confused than ever, and sighs, kicking one of the melty-looking cups that rolled over at some point.

“It’s fine. Katara… shouldn’t have said what she did,” Sokka admits.

“What did Katara say?” Aang interjects.

Zuko shrugs, glaring at the ground. “Nothing I didn’t deserve. I upset her, and… she wasn’t that wrong. I’ve changed, but I still mess everything up even when I’m trying to help.”

“Yeah,” Sokka agrees. Zuko winces. “But it’s not like you’re not allowed to be mad when someone’s a jerk to you. Look, just… give her some time to cool off, go buy new dishes, and you can apologize when you get back. Okay?”

“Okay,” Zuko whispers, nodding firmly to himself. That’s a sound plan. More of a plan for sure than what Zuko had. No wonder Sokka’s the plan guy.

Zuko’s never saying that out loud, though.

Aang bites his lip, looking back and forth between the two of them guiltily. “I’m… going to go find Katara,” he hedges. “Maybe she just needs someone to lend an ear if she’s upset.”

He pauses, looking at Zuko.

“What?” Zuko snaps, “You don’t need my permission!”

“I know!” Aang chirps, hopping to his feet with a flutter of clothes that’s almost bird-like. “I know that. Uh.” He points his thumb over his shoulder, still looking at Zuko. “I’m going now!”

With a burst of air, he zooms off. Sokka shakes his head.

“What a kid,” Sokka says.

“I have no idea what just happened,” Zuko admits. Then, he pivots on his heel, and promptly flees in the opposite direction from where Aang went.

This is, not coincidentally, the direction that outpost lies. It’s actually less of a formal military outpost and more of a small, rural Fire Nation village sat on shelves carved into the side of the mountain range that trails down to create the gorge supporting the Western Air Temple. The only real reason there’s any military presence at all is that there technically is supposed to be a watch on all four Air Temples, but… when Zuko came here with his uncle three years ago, only two weeks after his banishment, the military members posted there were mostly officers that didn’t even have a real barracks. They were staying long-term at a traditional _ryokan_ of all places, and seemed to be treating the posting more like a vacation than a real assignment.

They were certainly surprised to see Prince Zuko and the retired General Iroh there, that's for sure.

It takes more time to hike through the untamed forest and then up the mountain path that leads to town than it’s going to take to get back. By the time Zuko starts seeing scenic little buildings scattered between the natural stone monoliths jutting out of the mountainside, the sun has crested its zenith and just barely begun its descent towards the horizon. It’s the hottest, sleepiest part of the day, and if Zuko’s resentment of his own temper was fueled by guilt before, then it’s quickly joined by a strong desire to not be hiking up a mountain barely an hour past high noon, when any _reasonable_ person would be relaxing in some shade.

Actually, Katara is probably gearing up to make lunch soon, if she hasn’t started already. With Zuko’s luck, she’s just about discovered what he did to the dishes, and is going to be even more irritated with him when he gets back.

He slips his coin pocket out from under his sash, and counts the money he’s got. He didn’t bring too much, operating under the assumption that fugitives would prefer focusing more on useful supplies rather than a currency primarily used by their enemy nation, but he’s got enough for a new pot and dishes. Maybe…

Maybe he could also buy a nicer teapot. In case he ever finds out where his uncle escaped to. And he could make sure that Uncle knows Zuko actually bought it, this time, instead of stealing it. Uncle could spit all the proverbs he wants about fancy teapots versus tin ones, but he was _really_ happy with the opulence of the Jasmine Dragon. And it’s pretty much Zuko’s fault that Uncle didn’t get to keep the tea shop.

Zuko sighs, tucking the pocket away again. The whole thing is a stupid train of thought, anyways. He has no idea where Uncle is, and even if he did, he wouldn’t be able to make up for his own treachery with a stupid _teapot_. Uncle would be right to throw him out on his hands and knees, if Zuko thought he could get away with something like that.

He should focus on making things up to his tentative allies, instead. The ones he hasn’t totally ruined everything with yet, anyways.

Once he starts seeing tall, coniferous trees give way to wood-and-stone dwellings, it’s not too long of a hike to the official town buildings. Everything is still sort of scattered around due to the region’s topography, but the path turns into a wider, mostly-flat road that’s infinitely easier to traverse than bare mountainside, and steeper parts of the village actually have steps carved into the stone. There are enough people around that the sunlight beating down on his head isn’t the only reason Zuko is glad he remembered to grab a bamboo hat, but the time of day thankfully means that he doesn’t have to hide his face from _too_ many people.

He still gets some looks, hat and all, though. He did last time he came through here, as well, despite the official Imperial armor he wore at the time. In towns this small, the locals all know each other, and travelers are rare enough to prompt staring.

Zuko carefully picks his way over to the small plaza where he vaguely recalls there having been a market, once. It’s the biggest flat area in the whole place, and he’s right - when he arrives, there are stalls set up all around the paved square, and even some permanent shops circling it.

They are all, however, also _closed_.

Zuko resists the urge to slap himself in the forehead. Of course. Everyone would be on their breaks, now, and no rational person wants to go out shopping during this time of day. Most of the people he passed on his way here were sitting around _eating_ , after all, if they weren’t napping in the shade. He’s probably lucky he even came here during a market day - somewhere this small probably doesn’t even have them every day. He’s going to have to wait around for everyone to make their way back.

“Excuse me?”

Zuko jumps, spinning around, and comes face to face with - some random girl? She looks to be about his age, dressed in nice enough clothes for a commoner, and is holding a small basket with the remains of lunch inside. Chopsticks, crumbs, a small knife. His stomach rumbles quietly, and Zuko prays to Agni that she doesn’t hear.

He blinks, bewildered, and looks around - but there’s nobody else in the vicinity, except a couple of other girls that must be her friends or family, whispering to each other a few feet back where the path turns to stone-framed greenery.

“Um - hello,” Zuko says, and bows politely as he would to someone of equal rank. This, for some reason, prompts her to raise her eyebrows.

Right. Rural village, not court. He’s probably being _painfully_ awkward. And while the bamboo hat helps him keep his scar tipped out of sight, angling his head that way doesn’t really do much for the flush making its way up his face.

“I’m Toma,” she introduces herself, bowing back after a moment in the same way Zuko had. The movement is clearly unpracticed, and doesn’t dip quite as far as Zuko’s - yeah, they really probably just don’t do much of that around here.

 _Peasants_ , scoffs Azula’s voice in the back of his head. Months ago, it probably would have been his own voice - or himself, out loud. Now, Zuko doesn’t feel like he has much room to talk. Not after he robbed travelers and stood by as Uncle begged for coin to buy their next meal.

“The market is closed right now,” Toma goes on, “But I was wondering if I could help you find whatever you needed? We don’t get many travelers around here, so it can be confusing for outsiders to find their way.”

Zuko nods, rubbing at the back of his neck. “Uh - yeah. That would be great, actually. I’m looking for somewhere to buy cookware? My old set ran into… a firebending accident.”

Toma’s eyebrows go up again in clear confusion - or maybe in reaction to his admission of firebending - but she nods back at him and gestures for him to follow her down another road. Her friends, thankfully, stay behind. “Sure, I can help you with that. Today’s market is actually mostly just fresh food brought up the mountain, but we have a general store I can take you to, um…”

“Oh! Right - my name! I have one of those!” What was his fake name, again? So long in Ba Sing Se, and identifying himself as anything other than Prince Zuko still came so _unnaturally_.

“Zu… Li!” Zuko blurts, “I’m… Zu-Li?”

“Right,” Toma says, trailing off and biting her lip. “Zu-Li. That’s very…”

“It’s colonial,” Zuko mumbles, staring intently off to the side instead of directly acknowledging that he just gave her a girls’ name. Toma hums in understanding, and - it grates. And it pisses Zuko off that he can’t tell if it grates because now she thinks he’s some _colonial_ , or if it’s because being from the colonies is sufficient to explain away both shame and weirdness even to random mountainside peasants. He’s not even sure which option is making the chagrin and derision swirl together in the pit of his stomach, as contrary as water and the gross fish oil his uncle used to make him take spoonfuls of every morning for his health.

The rest of their walk is fairly quiet, barring the soft crunch of dirt under their shoes, and Zuko has to hold himself back from trying to make small talk to fill the awkward silence. He’s usually pretty good with stony silence, but Toma is going out of her way to be nice, and it feels shameful that he’s treating her the same way he treated Song and her family. The hot sunlight blanketing his shoulders is almost as oppressive as the weight of their silence.

At least he’s not going to steal anybody’s ostrich-horse this time. Not that Toma isn’t going to experience similar amounts of despair if Zuko starts commenting on, like, pretty flowers, or the fluffiness of the clouds. He manages to point out a nice rock with a swirl of color running through it, and immediately regrets it when Toma picks it up and puts it in her basket. The amount of effort it takes to be polite in the face of his people skills really is something.

Stony silence it is. At least the walk isn’t too long. It’s only ten minutes or so before Toma comes to a stop in front of a tall building, better kept and in a different style from most of the others in this village.

Zuko nods to Toma in thanks, bowing again despite her previous reaction to it before heading to the general store - and looks up at what is, very clearly, a military canteen.

Of course. Of _course_ a military outpost town’s ‘general store’ would be a canteen, Zuko is such an _idiot_ \- 

No. Zuko is beyond an idiot. Zuko is the biggest fool to ever disgrace himself under Agni’s eye, because there, on the very front door of this _military building_ , is a clear, freshly-drawn wanted poster.

Of Zuko.

For _treason_.

He’s wanted dead or alive, and the reward is more money than his entire crew was worth back when he was still sailing with Uncle and Lieutenant Jee.

Zuko takes a careful step back. Something small and very, very sharp pokes into his lower back.

“Li!” Toma calls into the building, pressing her little bread knife harder against Zuko’s spine. A voice in the back of Zuko’s mind starts laughing hysterically as he turns to look at her. “Li, get off your butt and come out here! I caught a traitor!”

The last thing Zuko sees is Toma’s wide, pale gold eyes and a very, very pretty rock swinging towards his head. After that, it’s just sharp pain, a tilting world, and the fading light of Agni’s eye.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Zuko is kind of the poster child for C-PTSD and I think that the writers for ATLA do a good job of portraying that. I added C-PTSD into the tags because it feels like it becomes more relevant to his internal narrative this chapter and I figured that warranted a warning.
> 
> Thank you to Cloudy and Shooshopath for reading over this! Please totally leave a comment if you have any thoughts, and/or hit me up on Tumblr at [prince-liest](https://prince-liest.tumblr.com/)!


	3. who's got two thumbs and wishes people cared about him? NOT this guy -

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I added some new tags, please mind them. In particular, I wanted to point out 'self-injury' and 'suicidal ideation.' I am specifically not tagging self-harm to distinguish between hurting oneself deliberately and hurting oneself out of necessity - in this fic, it's the latter. The suicidal ideation is a fleeting one-off line that disturbs the character in question.
> 
> Somehow, it bothers me more than anything that I can't get the Self-Injury tag to capitalize properly. qAq

When Zuko wakes up, he knows before he even opens his eyes that he’s absolutely fucked.

There are many reasons to make this assumption: He’s clearly been attacked and his head is throbbing badly enough to genuinely worry him; unlike in plays and stories, his unconsciousness was more of a half-consciousness during which he picked up enough on his surroundings to realize he’s not being treated to a royal welcome; wherever he’s being kept is cold and dark and _damp_ in a way that speaks to the sort of underground cells meant to suppress firebenders; whatever unspeakably horrible thing that is to be done with him is going to be done with the legal backing of the Firelord’s warrant.

Really, though, it all comes back to one thing:

Zuko is _always_ fucked. There is not a single thing Zuko has done in the entirety of his miserable existence that has turned out well. He tried to buy dishes, and got himself arrested. He tried to join the Avatar to redeem himself and teach him firebending, and burnt the Avatar’s earthbending teacher. He tried to bring his family honor, and betrayed the only person who ever _really_ cared about him. He tried to speak out to save the 41st division, and got half his face seared off by his own father. He loved his mother, and she sacrificed herself for him. He was _born first_ , and turned out the inferior heir.

Zuko wasn’t born for anything good. His father wasn’t taunting when he said that Azula was born lucky, whereas Zuko was lucky to be born - just stating fact. It turns out that Ozai was wrong, though. Zuko would have been luckier to die in his mother’s womb.

That thought is dark enough to disturb even him, though Zuko can’t find it in himself to contradict it. Instead, he opens his eyes and does what he does best: keeps moving forward. In this case, that involves surveying his surroundings.

He’s right about the cell. It’s stone and dirt, clearly not intended to hold _earthbenders_ , and it’s so roughly-hewn that he’s sure it must have just been carved out of the side of the mountain itself. The cell’s walls are claustrophobic, near enough that Zuko could stretch out both his arms and brush his fingers against rock on either side. If he huddles into the corner farthest back from the bars, he would only barely be out of range of anyone trying to reach in to grab him.

There are bars set into one side of the tall, narrow room he’s in, revealing a similarly stone-wrought hallway disappearing off to the left, and a thin, slatted window set into the wall very close to the ceiling. From what Zuko can see, it’s pretty much only there to provide air circulation. The bottom of the narrow slit is set into dirt, the cell’s ceiling barely clearing ground level, and it seems to face the side of the mountain.

Smart, not to give a firebender access to sunlight, but also miserable. The whole cell is permeated with sticky dampness - the kind that only comes about when a place never truly dries out. It brings a chill with it that Zuko could dispel with his uncle’s breath of fire if he wasn’t completely certain that it would be a waste of energy in the long-term as the clammy air continued to sap his warmth. He’s better off huddling into his clothes - as short-sleeved as his tunic and vest are, at least his pants are long and his boots waterproof. Frankly, Zuko’s kind of impressed with how inhospitably frigid these townsfolk have managed to make this cell despite living somewhere so _sweltering_.

Now, if only they’d buried him slightly less underground, with a larger window. There’s a 50-50 chance his shoulders won’t fit through it.

Zuko is going to try to clamber his way up to his little window anyways, but he will need working arms for that. Unfortunately for him, _his_ have been clamped together at the wrists, forcing his shoulders to bend inwards awkwardly to avoid straining his elbows. The manacles are standard-issue, and the cold iron may as well be winter’s chill at his wrists. He hadn’t been home for long enough to put on significant weight after his and Uncle’s stint as refugees, and it doesn’t help with retaining heat.

It does, however, give him some very literal wiggle room.

The thing about standard-issue manacles is that they have to be, well… _standard._ What fits the average adult man is fairly large on a recently-emaciated teenage prince. Usually, this is circumvented by using rope for younger prisoners. _Usually_ , younger prisoners - particularly ones caught in backwater mountaintop towns like this one - are not Imperially-trained firebenders that could burn through rope.

The cuffs aren’t large enough to slip with ease, but Zuko only needs to get one hand out. The manacles are only attached to the wall by a length of chain, which is a very elementary mistake. There’s enough length in it that Zuko is confident in his ability to heat a segment of chain enough to break through it easily without burning himself. He just needs to have a hand free to do so, because as much as Uncle tried to teach him, he’s still not a good enough firebender to breathe concentrated fire for long enough to weaken _metal_.

Maybe if he was as good as Azula, but - well, if Zuko was as good as Azula, a lot of things would be different. The fact that Azula would never be in this position in the first place unless she meant to be is the least of them.

Taking a deep breath, Zuko turns his head to grab the thick shoulder fabric of his vest between his teeth. Then, without giving himself time to think about it, he positions his hands on the ground, jams one under his heel, and _yanks_.

Even biting down on his vest, his voice cracks over a muffled shout, and Zuko is left pressing his forehead to his knees and biting back involuntary tears as pain radiates all the way up his forearm. He’s not done yet, not by far - he still has to get his hand through the cuff - but the thought of moving his right hand right now makes him want to sob. And he is _not_ going to cry in this stupid cell.

He’s seen this done in plays, before, and the actors always made it look so much more noble and elegant. Zuko’s not stupid. He knows dislocating or breaking a thumb is painful and damaging. Agni, he’s not even sure which he’s done - he hopes it’s dislocated, because he’s kind of counting on Katara’s apparent healing abilities for the torn ligaments, but he’s not sure whether she can heal _bone_.

If she even feels like using those abilities on the likes of Zuko. She’d offered before, in the cave, but that was _before_ he’d betrayed her and nearly caused the death of the Avatar.

He doesn’t expect to pull off the injury with the poise (or, in the case of the Ember Island Players, the ridiculousness) of a play actor. That doesn’t mean there isn’t something uniquely humiliating and enraging about gasping for breath, eyes wet and arm limp, in the corner of an underground cell.

Eventually, he calms down enough to look down at his hand. It’s too dark to see the extent of the damage, but that’s probably a good thing. As long as Zuko’s narrowed the diameter of his hand’s width, it’s enough. The rest, like unbending his thumb from his palm, must wait for when he’s not slated for delivery to his execution.

Thank Agni he’s left-handed.

He still rips several layers of skin off of his hand while wriggling it through the cuff. By the time he’s done, it hurts so much that the agony has gone distant, sort of detached from Zuko in a way that lets him concentrate on what he needs to do as long as he doesn’t let his head swim too much. It’s still there, and if he pays too much attention to it, it starts getting closer, but -

It’s enough. For now. And he would rather distance himself from the pain than dwell on it. Suffering has been Zuko’s teacher for his entire life, and he’s _done_ trying to convince himself that being hurt just makes him better. He would never have figured out the truth about how the rest of the world sees the Fire Nation, the truth about his _father_ , if Uncle hadn’t taken him somewhere that Zuko could live without worrying or hurting or being scared, just for a little while.

Not that it had helped _Iroh_ any.

Zuko coughs into the fabric at his knee, because the alternative is too close to crying for his pride to bear, and uncurls. His hand is the site of injury, but even his _back_ hurts as he stands, cramping slightly as he releases his tense posture.

Okay. Step one: Free his hand is complete. Step two is breaking the chain. Step three is shimmying up the walls, smashing the slats covering the window, and escaping.

See, Sokka? Zuko can make plans, too.

Step two isn’t nearly as painful as step one, and actually makes him feel a little bit better as the heat from his firebending warms the cell. Zuko doesn’t even realize that he’s been shivering until he breathes fire and warmth settles into his bones. He’s still a little bit shaky by the time he’s done, but it’s not bad enough to stop him climbing up the wall.

First, he holds his breath and _listens_. Most prisons have at least one guard, and there’s no way that the ungodly amount of noise involved in superheating a metal chain and cracking a link into two pieces with his heel didn’t alert at least somebody. Zuko is well-aware that step three of his plan could very quickly turn into ‘fight his way out of the prison cell when a guard comes to investigate his escape plot,’ but he’s good at adapting on the fly.

Nobody comes. Not when Zuko breaks the chain, not when Zuko tentatively calls out down the hallway, and not when Zuko punches a fireball through the window. He’s starting to think that he’s been abandoned down here when he braces his feet against one side of the cell and his back against the other and starts shuffling his way upwards. It would be unprecedented, but they _are_ kind of backwards here.

It is, of course, when he has one arm and both of his shoulders out through the window that someone finally comes. A very loud someone. A very loud, female, _familiar_ someone.

“Unhand me, you - you peasant scum!” shouts Katara, oddly stilted but with a thread of very genuine anger in her voice. “I am Sapphire Fire of the Fire clan and I will not stand for this treatment!”

Oh. Oh, no.

“The _Fire_ clan?” asks a less familiar and more masculine voice. There’s a note of strain, but mostly he sounds amused. “Which one? I’m from the Fire clan, too.”

How did Katara get caught, too, if they don’t even know that she’s - well, _Katara?_ How did she even get into town? Zuko resists the urge to groan, wasting a few precious seconds to thump his head into the warm, outside, totally-free-and-not-imprisoned dirt he’s been scrabbling through.

Then, he shimmies backwards, drops back into his cell, and starts quietly tossing the charred remains of the wooden window slats outside where they’re less likely to be noticed.

“Oh, yeah?” Wow, Katara is really good at sounding like a snotty socialite. That’s not surprising at all, actually, and Zuko doesn’t even feel bad for thinking so. “ _Sure_ you are. _I_ don’t recognize you.”

“What - I am!” the guy protests, and then there’s a dull thump. He grunts. Katara also grunts. When he keeps talking, he’s a little breathless. “My name’s Li!”

“ _Li_ ,” Katara intones, positively radiating ‘unimpressed’, “Of the _Fire_ clan. That sounds _so_ realistic.”

“Oh, come on,” Li complains, but doesn’t protest further. Zuko can kind of relate. There’s only so much you can lean into common stereotypes before you sound ridiculous, and being called Li of the Fire clan crosses that line.

By the time they round into view, Zuko has stuffed himself into a corner of his cell, balled up with his knees up like he’s scared someone will reach for him. In reality, he’s trying to hide the fact that his manacle situation is less ‘securely bound’ and more ‘hiding one hand behind an empty cuff while clutching the destroyed end of a loose chain.’

Katara is dressed in Fire Nation reds that are entirely out of style for the region and would fit in more if they were closer to the islands. Li is in slightly outdated guard armor and is very red-faced as he manhandles her. When Katara sees Zuko, she gasps.

“You!” she declares, in the same clearly-rehearsed manner from earlier. “You’re the - “

“The traitorous Fire Prince,” Li interrupts her, “Yes, ma’am, but don’t worry. He’s _very_ securely apprehended, and won’t hurt you. I’m sorry that we have to do this, but you’ll only be here for a few hours while the town messenger hawk carries a message to your House. I’m sure that you were in the right and this is all a misunderstanding.”

The _town messenger hawk_. If Zuko was a nicer person, he would stay quiet. Zuko is not feeling particularly nice, so he scoffs. This earns him a glare from Li. It also earns him a glare from Katara, but hers looks very dramatic in a way that’s different from all the extremely numerous times she’s _actually_ glared at him in the past few days.

“Hmph!” she enunciates, “My family will remember this! And you, traitor! Tell me - “ Zuko blinks. “Have _you_ ever heard of a Li of the Fire clan?”

Zuko shifts awkwardly, not making eye contact with Li.

“He’s banished!” Li protests, herding Katara into the cell across from Zuko’s. He also reaches behind himself and offers her a pillow. Zuko’s cell does _not_ have a pillow. If it did, he would have used it to muffle the sound of him breaking chains earlier. “He probably doesn’t know _anybody_ in the Fire clan!”

“Actually,” Zuko admits, “I spent my first week back catching up on all the genealogies, marriages, and other changes to the Houses when I was back in Caldera City. It’s pretty important for politics.”

Li wilts.

“There are four Lis from House Fire,” Zuko starts.

Li un-wilts.

“ - But none of them are recorded as living in this region,” Zuko finishes. They’re also all girls, but he’s not sure what that’s about and it doesn’t seem fair to air Li’s business out like that.

Katara ‘hmph’s again. Li’s shoulders slump, and he toes the ground of the dungeon. It’s a weird look for a six foot guy with spiky pauldrons on, even if he’s clearly lax about helmet guidelines.

“It does sound pretty fake,” says Zuko sympathetically.

“We’ve only got the one messenger hawk,” Li mumbles, “It seemed like a waste to send in updates about stuff like that.”

Katara levels him with a stare, raising her eyebrows imperiously. Where she learned to act like an aristocrat, Zuko has no idea, but she pulls it off very well. Even Zuko is embarrassed for this guy, and Zuko’s had a handprint-shaped mark of shame burned into his face since he was thirteen.

“Well then, Li of the Fire clan who conveniently forgot to update the census because he can’t spare a _messenger hawk_ ,” says Katara, “You may leave us.”

Zuko resists the urge to whistle. Li looks like something inside him has shriveled. He trudges out without another word, greaves scraping slightly against the stone floor in pronounced misery as he goes.

Which leaves Zuko as the unfortunate recipient of Katara’s stare. At least there are two sets of bars between them. Actually, she’s not looking half as murderous as she usually does when she’s alone with Zuko.

“Hello,” Katara says. If Zuko didn’t know any better, he would say she sounds almost _sheepish_. “Katara, here.”

Zuko lets out the breath he’s been holding to listen for whether Li might be coming back, and slumps back against the cell wall. For good measure, he tosses the severed length of chain he’s been clutching off to the side.

“Whoa,” says Katara, “You broke the chain? Wait - they chained you up? They didn’t chain _me_ up - what did you _do?_ ”

Zuko shrugs, wincing when he accidentally jostles his right wrist in the process. “Metal restraints are pretty standard for firebendending prisoners if the guards aren’t benders, too,” he explains, “Stops a lot of the movements required for bending, and I couldn’t firebend them without burning myself. I’m actually pretty surprised they didn’t chain my feet up, too. They must not have many firebenders in this town, if they don’t know that much.”

If they _really_ wanted to render him unable to bend, they should have gagged him, too. But breathing fire is a pretty advanced firebending technique - Zuko’s never seen anyone outside of the royal family use it.

“I don’t know what you got caught for,” Zuko goes on, “But they probably wouldn’t have assumed you could bend if they didn’t catch you doing it. They only knew I was a bender because they know who I am.”

Katara sags from her aristocratic posture, wrapping her arms around herself. She’s dressed for summery temperatures, and Zuko’s arms goosebump in sympathy. The next breath he takes, fire licks out of his throat and he funnels heat in Katara’s direction.

“... Thanks,” she says, quiet, and looks off to the side, “And - yeah. I saw the poster. I can’t believe the Fire Lord has already issued a bounty for you. Although, I guess the poster _was_ really rushed…”

“What do you mean?”

“Well,” Katara glances up at Zuko’s face, as if double-checking something, “The one I saw, at least, the artist drew your scar on the wrong side of your face.”

Zuko gapes, disbelieving.

“Are you _serious?_ ” he shouts, “How do you get something like that wrong? It’s the only thing anyone ever sees when they look at my face!”

Maybe that’s part of it - the scar is so big, it almost doesn’t _matter_ what side it’s on. As Toma proved, he’ll be immediately recognizable either way.

“Hey!” someone - probably Li - shouts down the hall, banging on what sounds like a heavy wooden door, “Quiet down, prisoner!”

Apparently they have a guard now. Good to know that Zuko was left unguarded because the guy was off arresting Katara rather than because he’s considered that little of a threat. After the way Toma took him out, he wouldn’t be surprised if the town law enforcement assumed he couldn’t jailbreak his way out of a rice sack.

“Is that really what’s important right now?” Katara hisses, frowning in a more familiar, genuinely irritated way. Zuko kind of wants to say that yes, it _is_ important, because his father put this scar on his face so how could he forget _which side it’s on_ when ordering the bounty - but he’s not so stupid that he thinks Katara would react well to that. It’s just -

It hurts. Zuko didn’t think there was anything that his father could do to hurt him more after the man shot him full of _lightning_ , but Firelord Ozai is a man of many talents.

“I’m here to help you break out,” Katara goes on, glancing surreptitiously down the hall, “They confiscated my water pouch, but it’s damp enough here that I can pull water from the walls and use it to cut through the bars to our cells. Aang is waiting outside of town with Appa in case we need backup.”

“You brought _Appa?_ ” Zuko asks, alarmed, “What if somebody recognizes him?”

“It’s not like we’re not already in trouble! They recognized _you!_ ”

Zuko has a hard time finding an argument for that, so he changes tacks.

“Why did you even come after me?” he asks, “You hate me!”

Katara’s eyebrows go up.

“I don’t hate you!” she protests, “I just…”

Zuko stares at her, and tries to stomp down the hope raising its head in his chest.

“... Okay,” Katara admits, “I don’t _like_ you, and I hate that I’m always stressed when you’re around because I’m worried about whether you’re going to pull something like what you did at Ba Sing Se. But Sokka said you went into town, and Aang wanted to pick you up on Appa so that you don’t have to hike the whole way back feeling sick, and _I_ wanted to make sure you got the _right_ dishes since none of you boys know how to cook right, and then we saw that poster, and it said alive _or dead_ , and - Zuko, it’s not like I want you _dead_.”

Huh. Alright, so that kind of did the hope-stomping for him, but the kind of stomping where one head gets stomped and three more grow in its place. That metaphor is kind of getting away from him, but the point is that if you asked Zuko a couple of hours ago, he wouldn’t _really_ have been sure that Katara doesn’t want him dead, and he definitely wouldn’t have thought that Aang would want to pick him up just to save him a walk.

“Besides,” Katara goes on, “How were _you_ planning on escaping, huh, Mister Big Bad Firebender? They’ve got you chained up - what are you going to do, gnaw an arm off like a coyotefox stuck in a hunting… trap… ?”

Katara’s face goes wan, paler than he thought she could go, when he lifts up his decidedly un-manacled hands. Well - one is still manacled, but they’re not manacled _together_ , which is the important part.

“I was actually halfway out the window when you showed up,” Zuko deadpans, jerking his non-dislocated thumb behind him at the conspicuously un-barred window. “I had to jump back down so that I wouldn’t get caught while that guard brought you in.”

“Did you break your _hand?_ ” Katara cries.

Zuko shoves it back in his lap, careful not to jolt anything. “Only a little,” he shoots back, feeling defensive and unable to explain why, “I figured, you know, you have that water healing thing you can do!”

“It’s not that simple! I can’t wave my hands and just fix everything,” Katara says, “Did you do that to yourself? Or was it that guard, Li?”

“It’s not that bad!” Zuko assures her even though it is definitely ‘that bad’ and the more time goes by, the worse it gets. His entire forearm is throbbing with every beat of his heart. “I did it myself. I couldn’t think of any other way to get my hands free, and I needed to be able to firebend to break the chain - “

“You could have just _waited for us_ ,” grits out Katara. “I know you probably think we’re all backwards savages or something - “

“I don’t!” Zuko interjects desperately.

“ - But we’ve rescued people before,” Katara goes on, “Including from _your_ clutches, so you could stand to show a little more re- “

She cuts herself off suddenly, biting her lip.

“... A little more confidence,” she finishes.

“That’s - I didn’t….” Zuko begins weakly, and looks down at his hands. In the dim lighting, the bruising and blood spreading across his injured hand almost looks like shadows, but the gross swelling is impossible to mistake for anything else. “I didn’t think you would come after me like this.”

“ - No, wait,” Zuko says when Katara opens her mouth again, “I didn’t mean it like that. I just meant - I didn’t think you would leave me behind, or anything. It’s not like Aang stopped needing a firebending teacher - I just, I guess I didn’t think about it at all. There’s not usually anyone to come after me.”

Usually, this is where Zuko would expect Katara to make a comment about how _of course there’s nobody to come after Zuko, that would require him to have loyalty to anybody_ , but she just stays pensive and quiet. She must be disturbed. He knows from doing research back when he was hunting the Avatar that the Water Tribes put a different kind of value on family and friendship than the Fire Nation. They emphasize love and closeness rather than just duty and fealty.

Actually, most families and friends seemed to emphasize love and closeness, Zuko found during his travels. Maybe it’s just his life that’s messed up.

“... What about your uncle?” Katara says, after a long moment of silence. “From what you’ve told us about him, he seems to love you a lot.”

Zuko hugs his knees with his good arm. “Yeah, well,” he mutters, “He probably hates me now, just like you. And he’d be right to. You’re not the only one I betrayed when I went with Azula. I got him thrown in _prison_. He wouldn’t even speak to me before I left, and when I went to break him out, he’d already done it himself. He didn’t want or need my help.”

Katara doesn’t seem to know what to say to that. She leans her forehead against the cell bars, draping her arms through the openings.

“You know,” she says, “You’re also not the first person to betray me.”

Zuko winces, and ducks his head against his knees to avoid looking Katara in the face.

“Even Aang lied about being the Avatar when we first met - and that wasn’t the last time he lied, either. But mostly… there was this guy we met a few months ago,” she says, “Who had a tragic story about his past, just like you, and who convinced me he really wanted to do good. But in the end, Jet was just a liar using me for senseless violence.”

“Wait - you knew _Jet?_ ” Zuko exclaims.

“Wh - yes?” Katara says, eyes flying wide, “How did _you_ know him?”

Wait. Shit. He shouldn’t have brought this up.

“Um - I - I met him, too,” Zuko says, sinking down once more to hide his face from Katara - this time, from a completely different kind of embarrassment. “When Uncle and I were living as refugees in Ba Sing Se. Uh...”

He sighs. Well, there’s nothing for it. He owes this to Katara.

Zuko raises his head and looks Katara in the eyes. “You shouldn’t feel bad for falling for Jet’s lines. He’s really good at manipulating people like that, and he tried the same thing on me when we first met. We, uh - liberated some food for the other refugees on the ferry we were on. And when we were done… I didn’t join his little gang, but I fell for the stuff he was saying, too. He’s kind of like Azula - he has a really strong personality. And in the end, it nearly got my uncle and I arrested.”

Katara looks back at Zuko, studying his face closely. Zuko could probably get away with leaving everything just the way he’s said it here, but the longer she looks, the hotter his face gets, and he just _knows_ that he’s going red enough to match his scar -

“S-so, um, I just - I guess I already said sorry, but,” he stutters, gulping, and breaks Katara’s gaze, “I just wanted to tell you that I didn’t betray you on purpose. Which sounds really weird, but - I was in a weird place. I didn’t know what I wanted, and I had some messed up ideas about what was right. But I’m not like Azula, or - or _Jet_. I wasn’t _planning_ on it.”

“You know Jet really well,” Katara says slowly, softly. Zuko fiddles with his manacle. “You didn’t just know Jet, did you? You... _knew_ him.”

“I - I - “ Zuko’s eyes shoot to her face, darting between her eyes. There’s nothing but sincerity and a slowly dawning realization that damns Zuko just as surely as it guarantees his honesty. “Katara, please don’t tell anyone.”

She frowns. “Why? Because you have awful taste in people? You went with Azula - everyone already knows that. Besides... I almost dated him, too.”

Zuko shakes his head, frantic, and leans forward on his knees to grip the bars of his cell with one hand.

“No, Katara, that’s - it’s _illegal_ , here,” he tells her, “It was different in the Earth Kingdom, but if anyone here knew that it’s not women that I’m - _interested in_ that way - I mean,” Zuko laughs humorlessly, “I guess I’m already going to be executed if I get caught. But I’d rather not get outed as a deviant or a pervert, first. I’ve already hurt Mai enough.”

Katara gasps at his words.

“But that’s… how could that be illegal?” she asks, “It’s just love.”

“I wouldn’t call what Jet and I had love, Katara,” Zuko comments dryly.

He’s not lying, but… there was a bit of time when he would have at least _wished_ that what he just said wasn’t true. Jet had made him feel like he was doing something meaningful with himself, until Zuko found out that Jet was just using their relationship to figure out whether Zuko and his uncle were firebenders. Of all things, Zuko is still kind of annoyed that Jet never returned the spark stones he stole. They matched the new tea set he’d bought Uncle with his first honest day’s pay.

Katara flushes, but rolls her eyes. “Okay, fine,” she says, “Maybe it’s not _love_ , but - I’d heard that lineage was more important in the Fire Nation than the Water Tribes, but I didn’t realize they made relationships _illegal_ just because you can’t make babies.”

Zuko chews on his inner cheek, and tries to tamp down the prickling, creeping shame that wells up at having such a frank discussion about his… about _him_.

“It’s more complicated than that,” he says, “But the laws have been that way since my great-grandfather Sozin’s time.”

“Well, they’re _wrong_ ,” Katara says firmly.

 _I know_ , Zuko wants to say, but he just glances down, feeling like a coward.

Katara takes pity on him, softening slightly.

“Don’t think this means I trust you,” she says pointing at him through the bars, “But I won’t tell anyone. I’m not going to let you hurt anyone I love again, but I’m not exactly out to hurt you, either. I don’t forgive you, but… I’m willing to work together.”

“That’s all I could ask for,” Zuko says resolutely.

“Now,” Katara says, standing up and brushing her bright maroon skirts free of dust, “Let’s get out of here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Katara is definitely channeling her palace-field-trip-with-Toph in this chapter. And once again, I have underestimated both the expected word and chapter counts. Thank you as usual to Shooshopath for betaing this for me, and an F in chat for Cloudy, whose hand is not quite as fucked as Zuko’s, but who nonetheless couldn’t beta for hand-related reasons. If my sentences seem like they have more useless word fluff in them than usual, please express your sympathies to Cloudy for helping me fix that in my other works. Also, come hit me up on Tumblr at [prince-liest](https://prince-liest.tumblr.com/)!
> 
> Zuko: Katara can heal me, so that means it's fine to injure myself!


	4. cruelty is a tyrant, and so are girls

Katara’s thoughtful acquisition of a pillow helps muffle her sawing through the cell bars with a sharply flung knife of water, though the pillow doesn’t survive the process. Both the ease with which she pulls water from her surroundings and the way she cuts through thick Fire Nation steel make Zuko uneasy, but when she makes her way over to him, the water softens around her hands and glows blue with healing power.

There are two facets to water, Zuko has long known as a sailor. It only really surprises him that she’s willing to show him such kindness - though perhaps it shouldn’t. She offered to heal Uncle outside the Si Wong Desert, and his scar in the catacombs of Ba Sing Se. Her kindness doesn’t seem to hinge on whether the recipient _deserves_ it or not.

“You’re very skilled at that,” Zuko says instead of voicing his thoughts, jerking his chin at the cut bars littering the ground around them. He’d caught each one as they fell, unwilling to attract more attention than necessary through metal clattering.

Katara starts smiling, but catches herself as she clambers into Zuko’s cell. “It’s not the first time I’ve had to use the water around me to escape a cell.”

She levies a firm stare at Zuko, making him exceedingly aware of their respective positions - Zuko once again on the ground, with Katara standing over him. If she starts yelling again, he’s not sure what he’ll do.

“The _assassin_ _you sent_ ,” Katara starts, and Zuko cringes in shame, “Locked Toph and I into a wooden cage once after he chased us for miles and miles.”

“I’m sorry,” Zuko says, staring off to the side miserably, “I shouldn’t have sent him after you guys.”

“No,” agrees Katara, crouching beside him, “You shouldn’t have. Let me see your hand, it looked really bad earlier.”

It looks even worse now, and Zuko’s whole arm shakes wildly for a moment as he reaches over to let her see it. His whole body is trembling slightly, now that he realizes it, though he doesn’t feel very cold. Still, Zuko breathes more deeply, and exhales heat with his next breath. It can’t hurt to keep both Katara and himself more comfortable, especially now that her pillow is only so many turtleduck down feathers littered across the stone floor.

He stares at his hand intently as he holds it out, willing his limb to stop shaking. It works, a little, or maybe Zuko just stops seeing it as much as his vision starts going fuzzy.

Shit. He can’t be out of it right now. They’re still stuck in this dungeon. He can’t give in to the pulse of pain sucking at the edges of his consciousness. It’s like wading through a bog, the water slowly rising past his thighs and up to his waist. If he stops, it’s going to pull him down, and then he’ll be _useless_.

Katara helps, as her clear voice pierces through the fog encroaching on Zuko’s thoughts.

“What did you _do?_ ” she asks, horror ringing through her tone like a bell. She takes his hand, gentle as the brush of a feather, and steadies it. From the look on her face, she almost seems… scared.

Zuko blinks slowly, and then physically shakes his head. His mind is covered in cobwebs.

“Put it under my heel,” he explains, shifting until he’s kneeling on one leg so that he can demonstrate with his good hand. “And then pulled it through the cuff after. I already explained this - I needed both hands free for the firebending I had to do to break my chain.”

Katara finally places her glowing hand over his, biting her lip as she stares down, and the relief is so profound and immediate that Zuko gasps, tears springing into his eyes. When he looks up at her, he’s surprised to find that she’s teared up as well.

“What - what’s wrong?” he nearly cries out, but manages to stifle his volume at the last second. Everything is going kind of weird and wavy, and Zuko can’t tell if it’s in a good or bad way. He hadn’t even realized how _much_ his hand was hurting until it suddenly wasn’t, and the absence of pain has flung him back into clarity of mind so forcefully that everything is tingling. He’s still shaking a little bit, and he finally realizes it’s from how tensely he’s been holding himself.

Zuko slowly releases the tension he’s been holding, and the trembling goes with it.

“I’m sorry I called you a monster,” Katara murmurs as she works. Zuko blinks, not expecting that at all.

“It’s okay,” he tells her, “I mean - you weren’t wrong. I’ve been a monster to you guys for a long time. That’s why I had to change.”

Katara shakes her head, sighing and sitting back on her haunches. She’s a lot more comfortable in a deep crouch than Zuko, who has to choose between kneeling and balancing on his toes instead of flattening his heels to the dirt. Maybe this is why he has trouble with some of the more advanced firebending forms.

“Maybe,” she admits, “But it still wasn’t right to say that. It’s not even… all about _you_ , really. I don’t want to be the kind of person that says things like that unless they’re really, really warranted. And it wasn’t, at that moment.”

Zuko hadn’t even thought about it that way. He’s never had somebody hold back at him except for maybe Uncle, and certainly never for reasons that weren’t even related to Zuko himself.

“You can tell it to my father, then,” he suggests, lips quirking into a smirk, “When the Avatar defeats him. My uncle always said that, um -”

What exactly did Uncle Iroh say?

“Cruelty is a tyrannical leader,” Zuko hedges, trying to remember, “That’s always - um, that always hires servants that are fear? So to stop being afraid, you have to get rid of the servants, which means, uh…” Azula was always really good at getting rid of servants, wasn’t she? “... Be more… cruel?”

It’s getting hot again, but this time just in the vicinity of Zuko’s face. He really, really wishes that he’d paid more attention to his uncle.

Katara half-laughs, looking vaguely horrified with either the sound she just made or Zuko, and resumes her healing work. “I don’t think that’s a saying,” she says, and Zuko’s flush gets even deeper.

“I don’t really remember it very well,” he mumbles, looking down at his hand. It’s feeling better already, the rhythmic throb of pain slowly fading as the glowing water around Katara’s hands pulses over his skin. It’s kind of weird - his thumb is being pulled back into place much more smoothly and painlessly than it left it, and even the swelling is going down swiftly enough that he can feel the changes happening inside of him. It doesn’t _hurt_ , but it feels really…

“Isn’t this kind of intimate?” Zuko asks, fiddling with the end of his sash.

“What?” Katara asks, startled out of bending for a second. Water splashes onto Zuko’s hand and pants, and the sudden disappearance of the blue glow of waterbending throws them into darkness. After a moment, Katara’s hands swish through the air and she regathers the water, but she’s still staring at Zuko when his eyes adjust to being able to see her face again.

Heat trickles across his cheeks.

“I just mean,” he mumbles, “You’re moving blood around inside my body, aren’t you? That’s what it feels like.”

Even in the blue-toned light, Zuko can see Katara’s face paling further.

“How did you know that?” she whispers.

He frowns, confused. “I mean,” he says, “I can sort of feel it. And the swelling went down. It doesn’t hurt, or anything, it’s just… strange. I never thought about what was really involved in healing.”

Katara looks back down at his hand - no longer oddly-shaped, and most of the sub-surface discoloration gone. Zuko could probably move it if he wanted to, though he’s not quite willing to try yet.

“I never thought about it like that,” she admits, “But you’re right. I _am_ bending your blood as a part of my healing.”

She seems really contemplative, and Zuko decides against bringing up his sudden uncertainty surrounding the fact that his healer doesn’t seem to know what she’s doing. She healed him, and he’s fine. That’s all that really needs to be said on the matter.

“That’s not what’s important right now, though,” Katara says, shaking her head, and stands up. “You were going to escape through that window, right? Give me a boost, and I’ll help you up.”

Oh, thank the _spirits_ , it’s time to escape. Zuko can honestly say that he has more experience breaking in and out of prisons than he does successfully reassuring people.

Getting out of the cell is a matter of a few minutes of scuffling about, Zuko’s muffled swearing (he leaves out ‘dogfucker’ this time) when Katara plants a sandal on his shoulder and _shoves_ after her hips get caught in the window, and the visceral terror of realizing that Katara probably has the upper body strength to shove him off of Appa when she hauls Zuko up through the window and has to heave to get his shoulders through the narrow opening. By the time they’ve both wriggled through and ducked behind the prison building (which turns out to be the tiniest, most shed-like law enforcement building Zuko has ever seen), they’re a bit sweaty, Katara’s hair is half-escaped from her faux-aristocratic updo, and Zuko is regretting breath-of-fire-ing the cell earlier.

They also probably look like they’ve been up to something _very_ different from a prison break, especially with the disheveled state of their clothes. Zuko tries not to think about it, and Katara clears her throat, taking a step away and straightening out her skirts. There’s not much room between the building and the cliff wall, but he can at least avoid getting into Katara’s personal bubble.

Even if she did step on him.

The sudden evening sunlight on Zuko’s face is like a breath of fresh air as his inner fire stirs in response to once again being under Agni’s eye. Unfortunately, it’s also a reminder that Zuko lost his hat at some point. It was a cheap woven bamboo thing, but he’s still going to miss it next time he’s under the midday sun with no protection.

“Hey,” Katara says suddenly, “Why is there dirt on your forehead?”

Zuko freezes, and brings a hand to his face. Sure enough, his forehead has a light coating of dust, likely light enough that Katara couldn’t see it earlier.

“Um,” he says, thinking back to thumping his face against the ground when he realized that Katara was getting brought into prison, “Must’ve been when… when I got knocked out?”

He stutters over the lie and his tone pitches up at the end of the sentence like he’s asking a question. Katara raises an eyebrow.

“I don’t know how I ever thought you were actually trying to fool me at Ba Sing Se,” she declares, raising her nose up with the knowing air of a little sister used to embarrassing her older brother. It would send pins and needles through Zuko if he wasn’t used to seeing how she interacts with Sokka. “You’re the worst liar I’ve ever met.”

(It still kind of sends pins and needles through him, but in a way that he can pretty easily ignore.)

“... Thanks,” Zuko says weakly, rubbing at his arm, and casts about for a distraction. “So, uh, where’s the - where’s Aang?”

“This way,” Katara tells him, pointing westwards, to where there’s a gap between the building and the cliff that it’s practically sandwiching them to. She takes off at a quick clip, and Zuko darts after her, hissing for her to slow down and check her corners -

Only to round said corner and come face-to-face with several townspeople and two Imperial soldiers that look to be in the middle of calming them down. Toma is in the small crowd, as well as her friends, all three looking angry as Toma holds up Zuko’s wanted poster and jabs a guard in the chest with a finger.

“ _I’m_ the one that brought him in, so you’d better - oh!”

Zuko blinks at Toma. Toma blinks at Zuko. The guards don’t waste time blinking at anybody, and draw their swords, efficiently spurring Zuko into movement.

Zuko almost reaches back for his dao before he remembers that he stalked off from their temporary camp without his swords. Even if he hadn’t, they would have been confiscated when he was taken prisoner. A firebender is never without a weapon, but he certainly would _feel_ better with steel in his hands. This town is at a high altitude that had Zuko huffing and puffing on his way up the mountain, and even now he feels the shallowness of his breaths no matter how deeply he breathes. His fire will certainly suffer for it. Another sign of his weakness, probably. Azula never concerns herself about such things.

Still, Zuko supposes that fire is more intimidating anyways. Now that he’s not getting ambushed by otherwise-unassuming village girls (and, seriously - girls really are crazy), he can take all of these people, _easily_. It probably won’t be great for his hand, but he’s toughed out worse through more severe pain and injury - the North Pole comes to mind - and he’ll last long enough to keep himself and Katara safe.

He slides a leg back, rooting his stance, and spreads his arms in a circular motion to summon two long ( - sputtering, shorter than he wanted them to be, but good enough, they will have to be good enough - ) streams of fire into his hands -

And hits the ground with an ‘oomph’ when Katara hipchecks him out of the way and flings forward a deluge of icy water that freezes everybody but herself and Zuko to the ground up with ice that trails all the way up to their calves.

“What the hell?” yelps Zuko, scrambling up. Her miniature tsunami mostly missed him, but it brought a rush of cold air that sends him shivering. His fire dissipates.

“No time!” declares Katara, snagging him by the good arm, and yanks the both of them into a run. The crackling of ice already indicates people trying to set themselves free, and Katara moves her wrist in a motion that brings more water around her as they sprint past a well. That must have been where the rest of the water came from.

They run.

“What did you do that for?!” Zuko interrogates, leaping over the short, decorative fence that circles the town’s central plaza. “I had it covered!”

Katara scoffs, and a smooth movement of her arms creates a glittering ramp of ice that skates her over a larger stone wall that marks the village borders with ease. It sparkles in the sun, almost blinding, and beautiful in a way that begets its deadly chill.

A dramatic thought to have, maybe, but Zuko’s been on the receiving end of Katara’s ice before, and it’s _not_ fun. Still, he has to be grateful for it on some level as he scrambles up the ramp after her, less elegant than he’d prefer.

“What,” Katara questions, “You were going to burn them all? Great plan, Zuko! Why don’t you just torch the rest of the town while you’re at it like you did at Kyoshi?”

Zuko winces, averting his eyes, but Katara isn’t even looking at him as she leads the two of them into the trees beyond the village. A splash marks the sudden melting of her ice ramp behind them, and a few moments later, they’re deep enough in the thick mountainside foliage that they’re unlikely to get caught.

Zuko listens carefully as they walk anyways, straining his ears for any sign of guards or villagers giving chase. When he catches nothing, he sighs.

“What?” Katara asks, glancing back at him. Her tone isn’t exactly unkind, but her brows are furrowed in concentration and annoyance as she pushes through brush.

“I know I deserved that comment,” Zuko starts, pausing as Katara snorts, “But I really did have it covered. I was just going to drive them back, not hurt them.”

“Why are you even telling me this?” Katara asks, bending a twiggy branch out of her face and then letting it go so that it swings towards where Zuko marches behind her.

“Aang told me that when he first tried to learn firebending, he lost control and burned you,” says Zuko, ducking the branch. “I’m not a master, but I’m a pretty decent firebender, and I want you to know that firebending is more than just burning people. I know how to bend without harming people needlessly. I could have taken care of it.”

Katara jolts to a stop, whirling around so suddenly that Zuko nearly stumbles into her. She’s as rooted as a tree, though, so he ends up jerking himself backwards to avoid crashing, and almost backpedals through a bush.

“I don’t need you to _take care of me_ ,” Katara says, practically shouting, “I can take care of myself! I am so tired of you boys acting like you’re better than me! I’m the one who came to rescue _you_ \- “

“Hey!” Zuko complains, “I was on my way out when you got there!”

“ - yeah, with a _broken hand_ ,” Katara says, gesturing at Zuko’s bruise-mottled thumb with her whole arm. She’s got him there, but it still smarts. She’s one to talk about Zuko thinking he’s better - she’s the one acting all above him just because he did what he had to do to escape!

“So what?” he snarls, “I got out, didn’t I? It was better than going home and getting executed! And it’s not exactly like you’ve been the most welcoming person around, so excuse me if it didn’t occur to me that the girl that threatened to ‘end my destiny’ was excited to stage a rescue!”

He throws his hands up at the end of his sentence, the tail end of it echoing through the forest around them, and clenches his teeth as he stares at the ground and tries to breathe. Zuko is so _tired_ of getting criticized for everything he does. He gets it! He’s a fuck-up and he always has been! Maybe if people could shut up about it for five minutes, he’d actually get something done!

“... Executed?” Katara asks, voice small.

Zuko drags his gaze up from the grass stains slowly seeping into his boots and eyeballs her.

“Yeah,” he says, rough, “That’s why the poster said ‘alive or dead.’ It doesn’t make much of a difference, since the punishment for picking up arms against the Dragon Throne is death anyways, and I shot lightning at my father before I left.”

“You can make lightning?” Katara asks, eyebrows shooting up in alarm.

Zuko huffs slightly, rubbing at his arm. “My father may have made the lightning,” he admits, “I just redirected it when he shot it at me.”

“You father _shot lightning at you?_ ” Katara demands, and her voice only pitches higher at this revelation. Zuko feels vaguely like he’s only digging this pit even deeper.

“I kind of deserved it,” Zuko says, “I mean - I don’t have a death wish, or anything - ” Mostly. “ - But it was during the eclipse and I was dumb enough to stick around after he baited me. I knew he was just trying to trick me, and I still stayed.”

Zuko has always been a fool like that. He fell for it when Ozai promised his return upon the Avatar’s capture, before the Avatar was even known to still be in the world; he fell for it when Azula told him that their father had changed his mind, had realized how much _family_ meant to him; and he fell for it when Ozai dangled his mother’s fate right in front of him. Even after declaring his father a terrible ruler and a terrible father, Zuko couldn’t cow the small part of him desperately seeking some kind of parental approval.

“... Anyways,” Zuko says, dropping his arm, “I didn’t mean to act like I’m better than you. Sorry.”

Katara chews on her lip for a moment, clearly torn. “... Sure,” she settles on eventually, “It’s fine. I forgot the Fire Nation isn’t really like that anyways. Here, I left Aang and Appa this way.”

They keep trudging through the undergrowth, slowly but surely working their way through the steep mountainside under the shadowed canopy of the trees overhead.

“What do you mean ‘like that’?” Zuko asks eventually, partly out of a desire to end the awkward silence and partly because he would prefer to know how to avoid angering Katara in the future.

“Like super sexist,” Katara says, and Zuko blinks in surprise. “In the Northern Water Tribe, women aren’t allowed to fight, or rule, or learn any waterbending other than healing. It’s different in the Southern Water Tribe, but only because there’s so few of us left. Sokka was a huge jerk about it for a long time, and Master Pakku - that’s Aang and I’s original waterbending master - wouldn’t even teach me until I fought him to prove myself and he realized I was wearing the betrothal necklace he made my gran-gran.”

That’s… a lot. Zuko can’t say that he understands the whole sexism thing - though maybe he’d like it if girls weren’t allowed to fight, since Azula, Mai, and Ty Lee fight like crazy people and are the _scariest_ girls he’s ever met, and that’s including Katara - but he knows the feeling of being treated like he’s second-rate.

It’s weird, to hear somebody describe their experiences in a way that feels so relatable. Zuko’s never felt like he really _belongs_ anywhere, in part because the things he feels and the ways he acts are so different from everybody else. The only other time he’s felt this seen was with Song, but then he stole her ostrich-horse and ran away.

It figures that the only people that he might relate to are the ones he’s betrayed.

“That… sucks,” he offers weakly, and rolls his eyes to the sky as he tries not to wither under Katara’s resulting glare. This is why he shouldn’t be trying to make any friends. It’s so much _harder_ to deal with people being annoyed at Zuko’s shitty social skills when he actually cares what they think.

“ _You_ suck!” says Katara.

“What! What did I say wrong this time! I barely even said anything!” Zuko demands, shoving a branch aside.

“Exactly! Try showing some empathy some time, _Prince_ Zuko - especially since you’re the one that stole that betrothal necklace!”

“I didn’t _steal_ it,” he protests, but it takes one look at Katara’s face for him to give up and stalk past her, fuming. “I - augh, never _mind!_ ”

“Don’t walk away from me!” she cries, but it’s too late - Zuko is pushing through one last set of branches like his life depends on it, and it turns out to be _exactly_ what he needs, because:

“Zuko!” Aang cheers from where he’s hanging upside-down from one of Appa’s horns in a small clearing, all relief and happiness and other monk-like emotions. “Katara! You’re okay! I was starting to get - wait, what _happened_ do you?”

“Girls!” Zuko grits out, grabbing a handful of bison fur and vaulting himself into Appa’s saddle, “Are _crazy!_ ”

“Monk Gyatso used to say that there are three things that can destroy a monk,” Aang informs Zuko, “Glory, gold, and girls. I think that’s why we didn’t have any girls at my temple. But Katara’s the first girl I made friends with, and she’s only ever helped me!”

“Thanks, Aang,” Katara says, smiling as she follows Zuko up to Appa’s back. Her voice is so different, speaking to the Avatar, that she sounds like she’s practically a different person. Someone kind, and patient, and infinitely understanding.

Zuko huddles into his dew-dampened clothes and stews. “Let’s just go,” he mutters.

“Okay,” Aang agrees, staring at Zuko for a moment but clearly deciding against voicing whatever is on his mind, “I’m sure the others are worried about us by now. You should practice telling me what happened so Sokka doesn’t call you an awful story-teller again, Zuko!”

Katara snerks and Zuko sputters. “I’m not - !”

“Appa, yip yip!” Aang interrupts, grinning and completely irreverent.

Then they’re bursting past the tree tops and raining pine needles into the forest below, flying temple-wards in the orange light of the evening. Zuko’s hand still has a length of chain attached, and he’s still having a hard time adapting to the thin air of the mountaintops, and his clothes are still kind of damp from tromping through the forest, and Katara _still_ looks like she’s debating staging a mutiny and throwing Zuko overboard -

But the air is clear and fresh, Agni’s eye slowly settling into the horizon bathes the world in beautiful light, and Zuko can close his eyes and just _feel_ the sun on his face for a minute instead of rotting away in some dinky dungeon. When he blinks his eyes open again, Katara’s face has softened, and Aang is chattering theories about where Zuko’s hat went. Nothing terrible has happened. Everyone is safe.

“Hey,” Aang chirps, “So did you guys buy any new dishes?”

Zuko buries his face into Appa’s fur and screams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The saying Zuko was trying to quote is, “Cruelty is a tyrant that's always attended with fear,” by Thomas Fuller. He was basically trying to say that he understood that Katara just said what she did out of fear and pain rather than malice, but he got tangled up along the way and lost track of the words. Social interaction that doesn’t involve getting attacked or attacking someone is hard!
> 
> Finite! Thank you so much to my betas Shooshopath and Cloudy, and to you all for all the comments everyone has left so far - I'm frankly pretty dumbfounded by the reception my inaugural (but definitely not last) fic to the fandom has gotten, and I really love reading everybody’s thoughts. Please do continue sharing them in the comments, or else hit me up on Tumblr at [prince-liest](https://prince-liest.tumblr.com/)!

**Author's Note:**

> [Tumblr](https://prince-liest.tumblr.com/) || [Twitter](https://twitter.com/princeliest)


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